Azur Lane: Tales of the Mothball Fleet
by GopnikChen
Summary: With the coming storm between Azur Lane and Red Axis brewing to a head, outside forces watch with cruel machination. Yet still, pieces on the board of this grand scheme fail to fall into their proper place, one of these being the aging Imperial High Seas Fleet. With fate twisted against them,the fleet must seek out unlikely allies to avoid their fate as mere pawns in a larger game.
1. Prelude

At first there was but only light, harsh and unrelenting light, before roiling motes of inky dark streamed forth, like tiny dark clouds across the face of this unceasing light providing relief from the beating of the lights rays..

The radiate light ebbed from shifting and eternally moving walls, seeming to produce and replicate themselves endlessly within this stark and clinical chamber. The walls themselves were not bound by the all consuming laws of the material world, they shifted and swayed eternally in a dance like ink blots of light and darkness, their form inconsistent and ever changing in their eternal swirling dance about the perimeter of the room.

The room was lit unnaturally, the source seeming to ebb from all directions in perfect unison, the eternal dance of light and dark ever keeping the room alight with this stark and clinical presence. The room was bare save for a immaculately and pristinely carved dais within it's center, the edges of such trailing off into the murky dance of light and dark, the edges of the dais and these "walls" never consistent and eternally wavering between the empyreal and the material.

Upon this unmoving dais, drifted a pair of drifting lounge seats of the purest pearl, bobbing and waving a meter from the marble floor via unseen means as they wafted upon some unseen wind. Nestled between them a vast scale model of the planet earth turned slowly, storms raging across her surface and pristine sunlight falling upon her daylight side, as a shadow fell across her night. This slowly turning model of the earth, was not an empty model within this chamber, the seas roiled and rolled as tiny scale figures dotted it's surface. Upon such sat tiny mock cities, infinite in detail down to the smallest marble stone upon their pearl faces. In the midst of these cities and ports along vast coasts, ever more tiny figures moved; pawns, kings, knights and rooks danced across its surface. The tiny pieces continued their dance, their groups drawing apart into separate groups, suddenly as something soured their silent unmoving conversations with one another.

These tiny models drew up neon lines upon the world map, dividing themselves by nation and creed, as the turning world ground onward in it's eternal rounding way. However such movements, as mesmerizing as they be, were stopped by the arrival of a long and slender inky digit resembling a human finger, planting itself upon the surface of the region marked by the drifting lines and growing tensions. The world came to a sudden halt, their movements freezing mid-step, warriors halting their march, building freezing with projects incomplete. This titanic hand in comparison to the tiny figures and cities upon this worldly board, would slowly twirl about centering upon a forlorn port near the center of the divided realm of of the Ironblood empire, the banner frozen mid-flutter bore not the iconography of the Ironbloods, but of some now bereft imperial power whom the Ironbloods now ruled their domain.

"Troublesome, I will confess. The day turns over, and the board is not properly set..." A nebulous shade sat reclined within the lounging seat nearest the now frozen globe. Only the the darting of luminous shallow eyes darting from the isolated port to the nearby reclined seat, would betray the the shades unmoving and indefinite presence. The the figure in question remained static and only vaguely human in appearance, fused with some vast unknowable machination, would be only identified by yellow-green text before it's nebulous form, 'Assessor-Gamma', such would be the only marks identifying such.

Reclined upon the other lounging seat, would be a figure veiled in flashes of shallow light and shifting reaching tendrils would lean forth, the humanoid figure fused with some abominable shadowed mess would provide only a slight air of mirth at the brewing frustration of it's kindred. A upon the inky bloated shade, it would almost appear as if a slight slight smile would dance upon the canvas as a line of clear floating neon markings would bear their only form of identification. 'Observer-Helios'

"Fragments of chaos are accounted for within the grand design. This mote of trouble has been weighed and found unimportant within the grand scheme. Your far too consumed with trivial detail... " The figure would gesture once more with swaying tendrils of shadow "..Could one call such a true test of our grand design, if we accounted for every droplet of the sea and stone upon the earth?"

The other shade, Assessor-Gamma, would churn within her seat, clearly growing tired with their more relaxed compatriots disaffected attitude towards her harshly trailed and prepared plans. Several gestures with her hand, would shift the dominating view of the forlorn port with that of a nearby flotilla of Ironblood vessels, the tiny marble miniatures would remain frozen in the tread, leisurely heading towards the forlorn port.

"It is a miscalculation, from which the score will be levied from your own immaculate reputation. What exists now, is of no concern, but of the branching flows of time I see foul winds stirring…"

Assessor-Gamma would gesture to the forlorn port once more, "... You yourself stated, that there existed the barest thread that this fragment of chaos could churn the sea and pose a threat to our design-"

Observer-Helios interjects nonchalantly "I stated it as a possible future outcome, not a certainty. The pieces of the board on the side of the Ironbloods have fallen clearly into my perfect calculations. You forget as well, I am not the only Observer for our grand design, if this tiny speck of chaos manages to shake off the shackles of fate I have for them, their impact will be minimal at the wose. You must recall probability does not equate to certainty-"

Assessor Gamma, interjects sharply, rebuking her college "But it acts as an unforeseeable risk to the greater whole…" Assessor-Gamma would gesture curtly towards her companion and then towards the forlorn Imperial port. "...The data I collect cannot be correlated if too many factors exist outside of the reference matrices, I hereby instruct you to alter the flow, the future /must/ be certain.. You will remove this foolish and dogmatic shard of chaos for the safety of the plan"

Observer Helio's shade, sags in her seat with tired sigh, her shaded figure going limp and and motionless for several long moments. The silence of the room was only brokered by the sudden arrival of her voice speaking up once again as her body returns to an animate state of awareness, leaning forth once more to address Assessor-Gamma, displeasure written in her tone..

"Troublesome, your over-correction could cause grave errors to occur in future calculations, of this I am certain. You may end up writing the future you dread."

Assessor Gama shifts, their shade moving into a reclined position once more, the long digits holding the globe in place releasing the earth to resume it's turning, the spiraling sphere and it's countless inhabitants returning to their lives and the brewing standoff before them. The Assessor refuses to acknowledge the Observer's comments and merely fixes her gaze once more to her compatriot, voice stern and unwavering.

"Is it done then?"

Observer Helio's would merely lounge once more into the yawning shade, a single humanoid hand coming forth, veiling something from view, before revealing an object in a stark flash. Contained within the shades hand, was nothing other than a unimpressive manilla envelope, wound tightly with twine and foreign text scrawled upon it. Nestled upon the twine was a bright cherry red wax seal bearing the unmistakable image of Ironblood iconography. A smug mirth radiating from the Observer, for such manipulations were but child's play.

"Of course Assessor, all according to plan to your plan. Now, shall we resume our game?"


	2. Calm before the Storm

The morning was brisk, the cold breeze having swept down from the north and marched it's southward way giving the forlorn port of Brist at the edge of Ironblood's domain one chilly and chilly morning zephyr. The wafting breeze would move among the dozens of docks that lay out into the cool waters, these aged and chipped docks were scrubbed and washed down until immaculate in presentation, however the stain of time and fatigue was something not so easily stricken. The breeze would stroll onward on it's marry path inland, passing over several dormitories, once bustling and full of life, now quiet and some empty. Like a seabird it would pass onward, over large parade grounds, earth marred with the stamping of old boots and gear, now long gone from this place lost into the silent halls of antiquity.

Amid the piers, the world however was alight with movement and activity, from several of the dorms, emptied forth several individuals, dressed in prim and immaculately kept uniforms and dresses, the streaming individuals strode from their dorms at the ports edge along one of the few roads within the quaint port. However, the early morning quiet was broken by a sharp blast from a trumpet as one of the dock-side dorms, wide doors slide heavily open, a streaming procession of eight figures filing neatly in line, one after another heading for the middle of the harbor.

These figures were clad in resplendent attire, ornate breastplates trimmed in brightly polished gold and shining steel slide onward upon the waters surface, each of them equally spaced with well rehearsed and rigorously trained movements. Upon the peak of each of these young girls heads sat a highly polished pickelhaube with bright crimson plumes trailing after their movements. The light and nimble rigs upon each of the females backs lightly rumbled and released light trailing clouds of grey-white smoke as they wheeled about the harbor, their riding boots clicking in unison as they contact the water's surface. The elegant display continued as the eight women column rounded the harbor's center before wheeling right and heading towards the central berth, fanning outward to line up in a parade formation. The head of the column, a fair haired lass, would step from the end of the line, presenting the redolent white and black banner of the Imperial Navy. She would speak up crisply to a trio of figures standing at the berth's edge, addressing them with a stout level of respect for their stations.

" _SMS B-97_ , lead destroyer of Group A, reporting in for final dispensation. I am authorized by Admiral Gerhardt to release the squadrons colors to my replacements under orders from Supreme Command, under Direct-...Directive…."

The destroyer, _B-97_ frets visibly her words failing her in this moment, she stares ahead as her mouth works worriedly, her sister ships slowly turning their helmed heads, some in concern, others in disappointment. However, one of the figures upon the dock would speak up to cut through the growing silence. With a gesture of a shaky white gloved hand towards the young destroyer, the Admiral would bring about the end of the display.

"At ease _B-97_ , you're still getting locked up over the directive, it's Directive 25…" Whilst the tone was curt and chastising, there was a certain level of amusement hidden behind the aged and grizzled figure that addressed the young destroyer. One could almost swear that a wizened smile might crack from the normally stoic admirals countenance. He would gesture once more to the destroyer squadron arrayed before him, before returning his hand to a ornate cane upon which he relied.

"Bah, fret not, we have time still till the Ironblood delegation arrives from Gorst, go out and continue your assembly, _B-111_ your falling out of line with your sister. Now, off off…" He waves nods his head once more to them and moves to salute _B-97_ as she accepts the dismissal, and releases a pent up breath from her chest she unknowingly was holding. With that, the destroyers resume their formation and file back into the harbors interior moving around in grandiose circles trying to perfect their timing.

As the destroyers file off, the two figures at the sides of the older admiral would draw up to his side, each of them in their mid-thirties, older and more developed than their younger kin that had just filed away. The heavy and sizable displacement of the war-rigs set them out as battlecruisers of the fleet. Their attire was far less formal than their younger peers. However both of them bore matching skirts and loosely buttoned naval frocks, their coats emblazoned with gleaming and polished medals from their service, upon either of their coats breast bore their designations along with lengthly brown hair. The only difference between the sisters, would be the wide frame glasses worn by _Moltke_ to distinguish the twins from one another, _SMS_ _Moltke_ and _SMS_ _Goeben_. _Moltke_ would lean over and place a hand upon the aging admiral, Gerhardt, shoulder and speak up in a warm and cheery tone.

" _Opa_ , your working them quite hard, why not give the little ones a break, they are doing their best to impress us, it's not like the Ironblood's have any sort of appreciation for these types of displays. If anything they are more than eager to recover the material in our rigs for their own devise..." She glances upwards towards her sister, a faint underlying aura of tension pervading, "... Well not all of us will be coursed for the breakers."

 _Goeben_ would tilt her head as her more forthright sister, a curt frown curling her lips as her sister jabs at her with callous words, however she would address the Admiral. She indicates to the admiral and her kin before her older sibling speaks out of turn once more. She would take a step forward, directing them to the distant horizon, " _Moltke_ , you know that speaking ill of our younger sisters in the Ironblood fleet whom are the inheritors of our duty stations is of poor taste…. It would be of remiss to give the last of the Imperial Navy a poor impression to those set to replace us."

Admiral Gerhardt would glance between the duo, and frowns curtly. His immaculately maintained and lengthy pale grey beard would only augment this displeasure as he clears his throat and addresses them both aiming to placate them both. "Easy you two…" He glances between them and exhales tiredly "... Today is a weighty day for all of us, there is no need to exchange bitter words in such trying times. We have done our duty to the Empire, and honored those that came before us. There is no shame in this final duty nor is there shame in those that are called to continue their duties for the fatherland…." He reaches forth and shakingly pats first _Moltke_ and then _Goeben_ on the their respective shoulders. "...For a soldier to end his time in peace, is the greatest victory one can achieve, I can only pray that this is afforded to all the ships in my fleet. This is something we should be proud of. Now…" He indicates for _Goeben_ and then the battleship row 1A off on the eastern side of the harbor, "... Go over there and wake up _Kronprinz_ , _Markgraf_ and _Köing._ I know those three are sleeping in, I need them dressed and ready for the delegation's arrival."

 _Goeben_ would bow her head and salute her Admiral, a slight grin on her lips, brushing aside the long mop of brown hair from her face. "Of course Opa, knowing the _Köing_ sisters they swiped some stout spirits from the quartermaster last night in celebration, I will ensure they are awake and in formation." With that she moves forth and hops off the berth and alights into the harbor, gracefully moving forth as she cuts a wake across the harbor's center, narrowly avoiding the maneuvering destroyers whom pass her a salute as they pass by her.

 _Moltke_ would frown slightly, adjusting the pair of glasses resting on the bridge of her nose as she would step back from Gerhardt, venting her displeasure with a displeased huff. It was readily apparent that both _Moltke_ and _Goeben_ bore some sibling strife, one was slated for the breakers and retirement, the other service in a foreign fleet. Over this fact did Moltke fume, her own feelings giving her some lingering resentment that she was not chosen for such a duty.

She would turn round in time to see a flash of golden locks bore by the aging battleship, _SMS_ _Kaiser Wilhelm II,_ in her ruffled and age worn dress drawing down the Imperial Navy ensign from the flagpole outside of the central command post. The aging battleship, would slowly draw down the colors of the Imperial fleet with an almost reverence, her shaking hands lightly taking the colors into them as she would unteether the flag from its anchor points. She would quietly hold the flag close to her bosom, the elegant monochrome dress of her own era, she would softly turn and move back towards Gerhardt and _Moltke_ , bowing her head to them both in respect, as she moves to raise the Ironblood's own scarlet banner.

 _Moltke_ would speak up in a soft tone, only within earshot of Gerhardt, "Feh, it's an inelegant thing this changing of guard. We've not struck our colors since we arrived here and have held guard since. It just seems so…" She would fiddle with one of the medallions upon her frock's breast, the faded gold medal, clattering against it's companions. "... We still have scores to settle with the Royal Navy. What will become of such, Opa?" She glances quietly towards the Admiral whom was in quiet introspection. "... Are our grudges and rivalries to remain unsated? Nay, some of us want to continue our service, earn greater glories for the Empire, some of us do. Why was _Goeben_ slated to sail for Constantinople, whilst my rig goes for the breakers, tis not tis an injustice, am I perhaps defective?. "

Gerhardt would pause, and after a quiet moment, he would crack into a wheezing chuckle, his stone lighter and aimed to alleviate _Motke_ 's bitterness, "You sound fare closer to a warship from the Sakura Empire, then of a proud Imperial warship. Best save that talk, lest you find yourself in commission with the Ironbloods…" He would stride forward and lightly nudge her with his cane playfully, trying to fend off the brooding cloud that hung over her head "... You must understand _Moltke_ , the pages of history turn ever more, some never are given a chance to leave their mark upon the world stage. But yet, here you are, your name was engraved in history for battles fought and deeds won. Your sister's duty is not yet complete, but perhaps it is time for us to find our rest. Mind you, we have seen the crush of combat, and you know as well as I do. Nothing except a _battle lost_ can bring half so much melancholy as a _battle won_. Besides…" He shifts and provides a hearty chuckle trying to change the mood for the better, "In a few weeks we can all can relax at the seaside of Malta and finally retire. Besides I might have pulled some strings with command…" He indicates to the heavy and squat form of a Blohm and Voss seaplane, idly bobbing at the dockside near the destroyer's pen. He grins widely and beams at such a haul. "I say we head for Malta and buy up a sea-side manor with fleets combined pensions, we can all dwell together again as a family once more. Eh? What say you or are these just the ramblings of an old coot?"

 _Moltke_ would attempt to stave off, but fail to, chuckle at the Admiral's words, glancing back out at her sister as she rouses the _König_ and ushers them from their dorms, their groggy frame shambling out as their heavy battleship rigs lazily spin and turn in a stupor. _Moltke_ would smile lightly, looking over the harbor once more, her eyes sweeping over the friends made, the tears shed and the battles won and lost. She inhales the cool sea breeze and would muse over the Admirals words. Inwardly she knew her own career had carried her into the fires of battle, into victories and defeats. However what struck her more poignantly was the quiet bliss of peace, her battles were bright fires in the quiet of a long career. Could she truly want anything more then to remain at peace, with her sister ships, living a life free of war and strife?

 _Moltke_ would turn and move to lightly embrace Gerhardt's arm, quietly nodding her confirmation, "Aye Admiral, your right. Perhaps it's time for us to find some rest. I have always wanted to find some new hobby outside of arranging the harbors affair… Perhaps gardening?"

Gerhardt would chuckle loudly and nod his head, leaning on his cane as he glances proudly towards _Moltke_ "Aye! Now there is a hobby worthy of such a battlecruiser as yourself. Perhaps-" He pauses as his brow furrows slightly, a dull drone wafting on the northern winds. Drawing the attention of both _Moltke_ and the Admiral. The distant horizon had grown somewhat dark, several dark silhouettes arranging themselves in a long line that seemed to span the aquatic horizon. _Moltke's_ radio would crackle with static as the somewhat confused voice of _B-97_ came across.

"Uhhh, Commander _Moltke_? We have visual silhouette confirmation that matches that of Ironblood. But, we also have visual contact with several flights of aircraft. Was there supposed to be an airshow before the handover?"

 _Moltke_ and Gerhardt would exchange a concerned and equally confused look with one another, the Admiral's jaw working slowly as he turns about, lightly indicating to _Moltke_ to rouse the rest of the harbor. "Strange, their several hours ahead of schedule, I don't recall there being any sort of mention of an air display." Both of their attentions would be drawn skyward as several flights of aircraft buzzed high overhead, passing by the harbor as several dozen Junkers Ju-87C's would drone overhead, one of them swooping lower as it flew only several hundred feet above the deck it's dark colors glimmering in the morning sun, however most unsettling was the presence of a heavy squat iron bomb locked beneath the aircraft's fuselage. The lone craft would then pull upward, returning to it's flight wing.

 _Moltke_ frowns curtly at the dangerous display and glances over towards the Admiral, his own expression reflecting hers. "Admiral, perhaps we should try and raise the Ironblood fleet via the radio? Find out what this is all-"

However _Moltke_ found her own words suddenly drowned out in rising and horrific sound of sirens, not from their own base but from the Dive-Bombers that had wheeled about and now streaked downward from the skies like bats from hell, engines barking gouts of fire and smoke as these ghoulish dive-bombers dove with hellish shrill sirens wailing over the once quiet and tranquil forlorn port.


	3. The Rain Squalls Come

The howling screams of the dive bomber sirens reached a fever pitch, their wailing klaxton announcing to the once somber and peaceful land that war had come forth to be made upon it. Like wicked and ghastly riders astride mounts heaving fire and flame, the Ju-87's swept from the sky. Their flight wings first releasing their payloads upon the dormitories of the High Seas cruisers. The heavy bombs would jab through the iron roof of the dormitories, several detonations echoing from within the structure. The detonations, caused the structure to slump heavily as bolts of flame leapt through windows and cast splinters and shards of iron, wood and glass. The rest of the port was alight as well, several of the destroyer pens had been set ablaze as fire leapt from the superstructure, many figures racing free in panic as battle now swept the base and its occupants.

With each passing moment, another wing of the dive bombers would streak down from the sky above, the thick trails of billowing smoke ebbed up in long curling trails that seemed to bloat the once sunny sky in ashen smoke and and soot. Several of the bombers would dip and dive, free to wreck untold chaos among the ports various structures as no shots rang out to intercept and drive them off. Several of the wooden framed duty stations, including the mess hall and officers quarters were aflame, the heavy detonations tearing the foundations of the structures asunder as they heave and tiredly collapse upon themselves in rising clouds of dust and debris.

The world erupted in a cacophony of searing heat and flying debris as the following wave of bombers lunged for their nautical targets, sweeping down low and releasing heavy payloads upon the forlorn port and its inhabitants. As soon as the first bomb had struck, Moltke had leaned forth to shield the Admiral from the worse of the maelstrom as several armor penetrating detonations rippled around them. The world seemed to slow, pitted and glowing fragments of metal raced by, air waves rippling as their heated passage past the battlecruiser and the admiral sent them careening off in all directions. As Moltke shielded Gerhardt, one of the spiraling bombs found purchases on her rig's rearmost section, her port side shuddering harshly as a bomb tore away heavy chunks of armor and lashed at her uniform and the left angry red lines across her flesh. She scowls sharply and endures, ensuring the officers life amidst the firestorm, whilst feeling her primary armament in turret mount A swivel violently and then hang limp from it's mountings, the mechanisms within damaged by the close detonation.

As Moltke pulled back from Gerhardt, the old man's once grandfatherly countenance would be set as stone, a gloved hand reaching forth towards Moltke, wordlessly indicating her orders unto her. Without neer a moment of hesitation, Moltke reaches forth and throws open a compartment upon her rig's inner side, removing an aged radio handset whilst offering it over to the Admiral. With a unchanging expression, the Admiral roused his fleet for battle.

"All hands to action stations, I repeat all hands to action stations. 2nd Torpedo Boat Formation, begin torpedo runs, I want you to shoot the Ironblood's line and leave smoke to marr their gun-sights and to provide some concealment against these aircraft as the rest of the fleet sails from port. 4th Battleship Group: _Koings_ , I want saturation shelling on targets, listen to the destroyers for shot corrections. 1st Battleship Group follow through and sail west, bring yourself about and draw fire for the cruisers and destroyers, will see if we can't pincer them as we have a numerical advantage.. High Seas Fleet, Begin Sortie."

As Gerhardt would release his grip upon the radio waves, a deluge of affirmations and status reports began to pour forth. From the influx of things, the sudden and shocking bombardment via aircraft had crippled the base severely. The current state of Battleship Group 2 was in poor keeping. The vast majority of the cruisers and battleships had been trapped in their barracks and pens by the bombers and the steady of barrage of air assaults had incapacitated a number of the venerable warships.

"Impossible, these was no warning. The damnable Ironblood's have seen fit to rend us down to scrap, but such vengeance, whom could have ordered this horror..." He pauses as this gaze snaps over to the eastern side of the harbor, several structures ablaze and shuddering under the assault, "... Group 2 is out of commission before even striking rudder to the waves? I've got wounded in the southern cruiser bay and the _Derfflinger_ 's dorms aren't responding to hails. Where in god's name is the _Baden_ and _Bayern_..."

 _Moltke_ would look with urgent worry as the once stoic facade of Gerhardt slowly cracked and splintered under the bombardment of status reports. She would quickly step forward aiming to break the Admiral from his burgeoning shock as she speaks up crisply, punctuating her words with a salute.

"Admiral, requesting permission to join TBF 1, the destroyers will need someone to rally around and with my speed I should be able to keep pace with them and provide accurate fire from the Koings when they arrive into position."

Gerhardt would be brought sharply back into focus, as he is shaken from the budding petal of fear that looms within him. His weary frame turns to Moltke and an unmistakable fire burns within his eyes, He would nod curtly towards her, indicating to to the now haze shrouded edge of the harbor, the flotilla of Destroyers sallying forth into the haze and smog of the seas with the Imperial ensign proudly bore aloft.

"Granted, however you are not to draw within torpedo range yourself, do you understand? Your wounded _Moltke_ , don't go out there and get yourself incapacitated. Take the Destroyers and have them create a thick enough screen of smoke to prevent any more of the airstrikes, no one is outfitted to handle 'em…" He pauses and casts a glance back over his shoulder as the aging but unscathed form of the _Kaiser Wilhelm_ emerges from the smoke shrouded courtyard, the Imperial Colors bore aloft by the broken remains of the base's flagpole. She would come forth and manage greet them both with a slight nod of the head. "... _Kaiser_ you have my flag, coordinate the fleet on the field and get them into fighting shape. This isn't a fight to the death, I just need you to buy us time to evacuate the injured and the incapacitated."

 _Kaiser_ would merely nod her head once more before casting her gaze towards Moltke, frowning at the damaged state she was in, "Very well, Moltke go forth and carry out the Admiral's orders…" She would daintily remove a radio handset from within her aging rig and speak forth, her even and somewhat elegant tone a harsh contrast to the hellscape about them. "Goeben, I want you to fall into formation with Moltke and provide a mailed fist to the destroyers claws. Seydlitz, please provide a sit-rep on the status of 1st BSG."

Moltke would wheel about, providing a confident salute to Gerhardt and Kaiser, before stepping swiftly from the dock, and powering forward towards the mouth of the harbor. As she moves to the harbor's center, from her left once shrouded in smoke, Goeben emerges and moves swiftly alongside her older sister. Her own face and attire covered heavily in a thick larger of soot and ash from Pen 3.

Goeben would grimace when she arrives at her sisters side, speaking up in a shaky tone, whilst the due pass past several more of the Torpedo Boat's own hangers, now aflame and heaving under the weight of damaged steel and timber.

"Not good Moltke, _Kurfurst_ was wounded when the first round of bombers dived on them while they were mustering. That leaves only the other three to provide fire support to us…" She glances over as the battleship _Westfalen_ worked to pull the wailing form of the _Bayern_ from the wreckage of her dormitory, her war-rig a splintered and twisted mess that wept thick trails of oil from the shattered hull. "... Judging by the looks of it, I don't see 1st Group having fared any better."

Moltke would speak up sharply, eyes locked on the harbor's edge as they neared it. Whilst normally the stone barriers on either side of the entrance would provide a sense of safety and familiarity to her as she had sailed these lanes countless times before, only a brewing dread mustered in the pit of her stomach as she watched the almost impermeable thick smog and haze that swelled just outside of the harbors walls knowing full well that their attackers lie somewhere within.

"Stay focused Goeben, we have to reach the destroyers as they are in contact with the main enemy force. The _Koings_ will be relying on us for accurate fire-orders…." She flashes her sister a confident, albite empty, grin feigning confidence. "... Besides, it will be out first sortie together against a foe, let us make such a name as to be worthy of song."

 _Goeben_ , failing to notice _Moltke_ 's own words baseless bolstering, would beam proudly as she nods her head, adjusting her naval frock. She would flash a confident grin as the pair would pass from the mouth of the harbor, her own voice ebbing through the din of distant gunfire and the crash of waves. "Aye! These young pups will rue the day they bloodied the Imperial Navy!" With these words the duo passed onto the open seas, thick clouds of gunsmoke clung to the seas surface, casting the sea in a dense fog like state, visibility dropping well below a kilometer. The duo would proceed forward, drawing up their compasses as they course correct for the northern region of the sea, knowing the route the destroyers would have taken on their blind rush to throw forth smoke to shield their larger sisters as they hauled themselves from port.

 _Moltke_ would reach down and unlatch her old radio handset and adjust her frequency, as the radio squeals, the heavy drone of aircraft unseen over head and the distant thunder of gunfire giving the sea an uneasy ambiance.

" _B-97_ , what is your current location? We are in route to provide fire support for your runs."

Across the lapping waves of the open sea, surrounded by the din of gunfire and the battlecries of her sister, B-97 raced headlong through the dense smoke clouds, the scent of cordite and oil thick in the open air The flotilla of destroyers had raced forward and completed their assigned duty of splaying wide thick cloud of smoke to shield the harbor. As B-97 and her four sisters, broke free of their smoke screen, blazing headfirst towards the enemies battle lines, they gained first visual contact with the enemy force arrayed before them. The lashing of the water would harshly buffet her face, sending pin pricks of wave jabbing at her exposed cheeks. She would glance away, the Imperial Ensign raised high above her as the brightly burnished armor of the destroyers would catch the morning light, redolently broadcasting their locations as they breach the gunsmoke.

As _Moltke_ 's voice would crackle from her radio, B-97 would hold her handset to her lips and speak up, straining her eyes as she began to take note of the figures arrayed before her.

"Aye _Moltke_ , we have made visual contact with the Ironblood's-.." Her words are cut short as a shell screams between herself and B-109, both ships flinching visibly as a geyser of water is kicked up from the shell shot dozens more splashing around them as the sea erupts from the incoming fire. "... Correction, we are taking fire from the Ironblood's, it's clear they are here for a fight."

With a swift and well rehearsed motion, B-97 sharply skips aside as a heavy shell from a cruiser crashes down into the sea in her former location, a stray smaller tertiary calibre gun shell striking and glancing off her ornate breastplate, dulling it's sheen but offering no real damage. _Moltke_ 's voice cuts across the din of combat once more, ".. B-97 can you give me any insight on the fleets composition, any names? Perhaps we can convince them to call off their attack. The Admiral may be able to pursue some means of diplomatic resolution…."

As _Moltke_ finishes her words, a larger shell would impact heavily on B-111's upper right shoulder, the shot stumbling her as the shell erupts in a black cloud of impact, a pained cry radiating from her sister ship. With an inelegant movements, B-111 is knocked from her feet, sent crashing into the waves and rolling several times. However, despite the hit, she pushes herself upright. With helm missing and breastplate twisted and torn asunder, she shakingly rises and starts to move again, much slower as she has fallen out of their formation.

 _B-97_ grits her teeth and lowers the handset, swapping out for her binoculars, she raises them to her eyes watching the distant figures resolving into view. Try as she might, she couldn't stave off a gasp at the sight of the warships arrayed before her. At the head of the column were many Production type cruisers, each one coughing and barking out sheets of shell fire towards the oncoming destroyers, their forms short and squat as they slowly trail to and fro in a defensive screen to shield the larger ships at their rear, their presence a minor inconvenience at best, however what they shielded struck a cord of fear deep within her heart.

Towering behind the production types, bore several large warships with monsterous and terrifying war-rigs to behold. At the center, and their foremost target, clearly was the wide and heavy form of the fleet's carrier. The women stood brazenly unconcerned from the destroyer's charge, impassive as she was clad in some twisted iron plating, a heavy patchwork iron skirt veiled her lower body as this ghoulish red and black steel plate shrouded her. Her armored flight deck sat poised like some wrought iron monsterous throne, whilst the majority of the metal superstructure was made of iron gantry woven together into her war-rigs outer and innermost working, in an almost eerie and supernatural manner. A twisting gothic titanic iron brazier sat at the rear of her flight deck, her Diver-Bombers seeming to materialize from the searing flames before being launched forth in waves unto the skies. The figure wore a twisted iron mask, half veiling her face, long silver strains of hair giving her an almost ghoulish appearance.

As _B-97_ would strain her vision, aiming to read out the text scrawled upon her War-Rig she frowns curtly, glancing over at her nearest sister ship, _B-109_. " _Strasser_ , _Peter Strasser_ , I've never heard of this one. What class of carrier is that?" _B-109_ would respond wordlessly with a shake of her head, clearly unsure herself. With nervous hands, _B-97_ would recover her handset, calling forth to _Moltke_.

" _Moltke_ , we have the fleet's carrier in sight, she is screened by Production Cruisers, we are going to begin our attack run…" As _B-97_ would cast her gaze along the horizon, she would notice the distant and steadily darkening northern sky would ebb forth into thick rain squalls. She strains her vision as she spies several more, even more sizable figures, clearly battleships of some make. However, what she failed to expect was to glimpse their there forms racing ahead of their escorts, their titanic and hulking monstrous war-rigged forms, vanishing into the churning clouds of gunsmoke, clearly moving forward in an effort to close in to shell the base. "... Bad news, I spy the form of several more battleships, or what looks like em. They have moved into the smoke screen, they may be try to catch you both as you leave the harbor." She locks her gaze forward on the carrier and grits her teeth, indicating with the rapidly fluttering Imperial flag, to continue the charge, the young and hotblooded destroyers eagerly racing headlong in their attempt to ensnare glory for the 1st Torpedo Boat division.

"We will knock out the carrier, if we spy the battleships we will give you grid updates. But _Moltke_ I dare say, this might be our lucky day, in their haste, they have handed us a victory!"

After several long seconds, _Moltke_ 's voice would cut across the radio again, her tone a mixture of brewing fear and strained authority as she attempts to recall the destroyers

" _B-97_! Wheel east and withdraw from your attack, they /want/ you to strike the carrier! Do you hear me? Your being baited out from the cover of your support fleet. _B-97_ you will abort your torpedo run, do you understand?!"


End file.
